Devoted Service
by LStarrunner
Summary: Each faction's leader faces challenges daily, and leans on a devoted mech who helps him remain strong for his troops. Parallels end when emotion is examined: polar opposites on both sides of the interface. Ch1 MorMA. Ch2 PG-13. G1. Slash. Unusual Pairs.
1. Break from Habit

_Break from Habit_

Universe: G1 cartoon. Takes place aboard the Nemesis immediately following _Skimming the Surface_ (Chapter 1 of _The Faction that Sparked Him_). Uploaded separately to retain that story's rating.

Rated: NC-17, to be safe, for detailed physical intimacy between purely mechanical beings.

Pairing: Soundwave/Megatron. Soundwave/Casseticons implied.

Author's Note: Recognizable Characters/Names belong to Hasbro/Takara/IDW. I'm just playing with them. Written for the Megatron Free-for-All challenge at MechaErotica, June 2007.

* * *

Soundwave looked up from his work when the chirp of the communications system sounded in his office. "Megatron's back, Boss," Rumble said gravely. Soundwave heard the distant sounds that meant the Casseticon had triggered the base's primary entrance, "Sending up the docking tower now."

"Acknowledged," Soundwave replied in his standard monotone.

-X-X-X-

Megatron landed heavily on the outstretched platform of his new home's telescoping tower. He heard the sound of Skywarp's teleportation behind him and turned to see the battered Seeker arrive, supported nearly completely by a relatively unscathed Thundercracker. "You are a poor excuse for a bodyguard." He scanned the direction from which they'd arrived and saw nothing. "Where are the others?"

"We warped ahead when Starscream refused to let anyone carry him the rest of the way, Megatron," Thundercracker answered dully, settling on the platform behind his leader and continuing to support Skywarp. Apparently the purple one was too damaged to walk, let alone fly; he drooped in Thundercracker's grasp as if the warp home had nearly finished him off. Thundercracker spoke to him too softly for Megatron to decipher without effort.

Megatron refrained from commenting on the idiocy of his Air Commander and stomped inside. He paused briefly for the two Seekers to join him before triggering the descent sequence. As soon as the lift closed, he regretted it: the smell of salt water and crude oil was oppressive in the small space. Skywarp was still dripping; he had crashed into an oily, watery mess after being accosted mid-air by an Autobot with a jetpack. Skywarp probably had that slag in every cavity of his frame. Suppressing his revulsion, Megatron turned his processor to Soundwave's activity, the reason he and the jets had been on decoy duty. Surely Soundwave would have better news.

The interior portal opened when they reached Megatron's private level. He left the compartment in silence, ignoring his two minions completely. After the door closed and the lift continued its descent, the smells of the salt and the oily battlefield remained, reminding Megatron that he himself had been splashed by some of the sludge that covered Skywarp. Determined to remove the traces of the pitched battle from his processor, he stepped into his decontamination chamber and turned on the solvent spray. He stood in the chemical bath for several moments waiting for the noxious Earthly odor to leave him. When the cleansing vapor didn't abate it, he broke out the powdered detergent. Mixmaster's dry chemical blend reminded him pleasantly of Cybertron but could not quite remove the smells of Earth completely from his olfactory detectors. Hoping he had not gotten salt water inside his plating again, he tried vainly to scrub the odor from his metal frame. Giving it up as a lost cause, he cycled the chamber off, wishing for the millionth time in a day that he'd let the Ark depart Cybertron unmolested. Even granted this dirty, stinking planet had more energy sources than they'd catalogued in some entire star systems, the loss of so many stellar cycles that could have been spent enforcing order on the chaos the Autobots fomented on Cybertron more than offset any potential gains to be made. The last blast of warm air removed the particles of cleanser from his plating and the chamber opened. He knew there was nothing to be done to remedy that, now. He stepped back out into his main living area running the scenario in his processor: if he took the Decepticons back to Cybertron, those accursed mechanisms would follow and he would be back where he started, literally, with no progress to note for millions of cycles lost. He took a cube of energon from his personal supply and stood before the monitors to survey his domain and summon Soundwave. Soundwave always reminded him of his power, somehow able to rekindle his desire for peace, for the order and efficiency he would create when he ruled unchallenged. Sipping from the cube, he watched as Thundercracker walked Skywarp down the corridor of the Seekers' level to their quarters. "Pitiful," he said to himself, then turned his attention to the control center. Soundwave was not present there but Rumble and Frenzy were. This monitoring station was the best idea he'd ever had... or maybe second to creating this opulent suite. It almost allowed him to believe himself back home again, ruling Cybertron without a care. Keying the comm system for that room he addressed them, "Send Soundwave up."

It disappointed him slightly that neither Casseticon startled. The blue one looked up at the camera and smiled placatingly, "Yes, Megatron."

"Inform me when Starscream returns, Frenzy."

The smile stiffened but Megatron let it slide - of course he was addressing Rumble, but the Casseticon knew better than to correct him. "Yes, Megatron," he replied, turning to his brother who appeared to be talking quietly to someone on another screen, likely Soundwave in his office if the flashing visor was an indicator.

Soundwave's answer came through the sensitive system: "En route." Yes, the monitors were an excellent idea.

-X-X-X-

"Megs is callin' for you, Boss," Frenzy told Soundwave with a flash of his visor that indicated a negative condition. By context, Soundwave concluded the decoy mission had not left Megatron in one of his better moods.

"En route," Soundwave replied, allowing his vocalizer to fluctuate in just the way that would tell his Casseticons to maintain their lowest profile. He trusted them to put the camera in the control center on a loop to prevent Megatron guessing what they were doing. Registering Frenzy's answering signal, he broke the connection. Watching the return of Thundercracker and Skywarp on his own console, Soundwave subspaced the data pad that contained the summary of the deal he and Swindle struck with the diamond traders, then headed for the lift. Creating the plush suite of rooms for Megatron on the uppermost level of the ship and equipping it with monitors that showed nearly every hallway and office kept Megatron out of Soundwave's way most of the time, but created the necessity for him to go to his leader regularly. It was a small price to pay, really. Nothing could disrupt the activity of the garrison like a bored and foul-tempered despot wandering the halls.

Arriving at the designated level, Soundwave waited in the compartment for Megatron to allow him entry. In an emergency, or when he needed to find something Megatron had hidden away, Soundwave of course owned the code and could effortlessly let himself in. It would never do to have Megatron know that. The stability of their arrangement required that Megatron never know his true role, and certainly never know how completely Soundwave controlled the ranks. After delaying a few moments to prove his visit was on Megatron's terms, not his own, Megatron cued the portal open and bid him enter. Posture confident but tone deferential, Soundwave strode into the apartment saying, "Mission: successful. Diamonds obtained; trade made. Fuel processing." He stopped at the habitual distance from Megatron and waited to be invited further into his leader's presence.

"Approach and report fully," Megatron ordered stiffly from his position near the bank of monitors.

Soundwave stepped closer, saying, "Yes, Megatron." On the monitors, he noticed the subtle loop effect running on not only the view of the control center, but the Seekers' hallway and the secondary lift. Having designed the system, he could pick out the instant when each loop began. Briefly he wondered what the Seekers were up to, but since his Casseticons were undoubtedly responsible for the surveillance tampering, he trusted he'd find out after his audience with Megatron was finished. Note made in his personal task list file, he turned his attention completely to the silver mech before him. Even without exercising his telepathic ability, he could tell two things: Megatron was melancholy again and likely to stir up trouble if left to his own devices. He could not allow that. He pulled the data pad from subspace and offered it to Megatron. Megatron disdained it, of course, preferring to hear Soundwave vocalize his report. "Pirates known to trouble shipping route. Ship carried illegal diamonds; guards amateur; armament ineffective. Crew lost at sea; nothing indicates Decepticon involvement. Transfer to client uneventful. Swindle traded diamonds for fuel. Constructicons now process fuel; energon delivery to storage within three days." He subspaced the unwanted datapad and waited to see if this satisfied Megatron. It was much more efficient to steal things the fleshlings valued excessively and trade them for fuel that would yield large amounts of energon. Even using the locally produced technologies for extracting energy from the planet was wasteful in comparison.

"It pleases me that something went well today," Megatron grumbled, pointedly looking at the monitor showing the Seekers' hall, "had I to rely on their abilities here, I'd be in stasis by now from lack of energon. Or scrapped by that rabble-rouser who calls himself a Prime."

Soundwave really didn't want to have this conversation one more time, but it was at the front of Megatron's processor. He found himself repeating what he always said when his leader questioned the usefulness of the Seeker Trine: "Their purpose: hold Autobots' attention. Success." Reading Megatron's next comment before he even decided if he would vocalize it this time, Soundwave preempted him: "Starscream: incapable of overthrowing you. Termination: inefficient."

-X-X-X-

Megatron listened to Soundwave's analysis of the capabilities of his Air Commander and finished his energon. How many times had Soundwave counseled him to keep the Seeker Trine around? "He is incompetent." He set the empty cube down.

"Necessary," Soundwave responded.

"You are the only Decepticon in this ship that earns his keep. We should terminate the lot of them and start over," he returned to his storage cabinet and removed another cube of energon. "Except for your Casseticons, of course. They serve me well by serving you," Megatron relied too heavily on this mech to risk the inconvenience of having to replace him. He suspected the loss of the Casseticons would shake Soundwave's loyalty; he could give vocal service to their worth if it made it easier to retain Soundwave's support. "And the Constructicons. Who else processes energon that tastes like it came from a proper source?" Feeling suddenly generous, he offered his lieutenant a cube of Mixmaster's best high-grade.

-X-X-X-

Soundwave wordlessly declined the offered energon. Not that he didn't enjoy Mixmaster's brews, but he was working and preferred to save such indulgence for time alone with his cassettes. Their private reserve surpassed Megatron's in volume and variety, but like so much of the true workings of their organization, Megatron had no business knowing that.

Shutting the cabinet and then leisurely closing the gap between them, Megatron set his large hand on Soundwave's square shoulder. "Starscream carries the liquid hydrocarbon we obtained on the decoy run, get it from him so he does not try to process it here and keep it all for himself."

"Yes, Megatron," he replied automatically, unsurprised that Megatron remembered the chaos that erupted the day of Starscream's last energon-processing project. Obviously, his leader's outing with the jets had not gone well. As a diversion to keep the Autobots from monitoring Soundwave's activity, it succeeded perfectly. But there were a few obvious injuries to Megatron's exostructure: small inconsequential dents most likely from the projectile weapons the indigenous people favored; a burn from a laser rifle on one shoulder that looked like many he had suffered from Optimus Prime over the eons; and a different sort of burn in a scatter pattern on his lower back. Minor injuries resulted in annoyance. Coupled with the disgrace of calling yet another retreat - even a strategic one - from an engagement with the Autobots, the insult of minor injuries pushed Megatron to question the worth of his minions, especially his Air Commander. It was one reason Soundwave advocated the Seekers as Megatron's personal bodyguard on these outings: better they suffer in his sight than he look too closely into Soundwave's business. His revisit to Starscream and the oil, like the offer to share energon, was an attempt to distract himself from his sensors and sense of failure. "Starscream's processing equipment: secured. Your proper percentage: certain." He easily read Megatron's intentions and determined that the audience was going precisely as he had expected. Megatron was such a creature of habit. He shifted position to appear somewhat submissive.

Megatron did not miss the slight shift in posture. "You always ensure I have my proper percentage," he rumbled, relaxing his own stance and sipping his energon, fingers passing purposefully across the button on Soundwave's shoulder.

Soundwave played along, allowing a slight shudder through his frame. He continued to scan Megatron's CPU. His liege was in a mood to be entertained. He remotely cued the system he'd placed in Megatron's quarters; the music of one of Cybertron's long past mathematical masters covered the sounds of the functions of the ship. He registered that Megatron relaxed further in appreciation of both his response to stimulus and the sound: it was the correct tactic.

Megatron continued to fondle Soundwave's eject button. He enjoyed the feeling of power it gave him to touch Soundwave and get the expected response. Slowly imbibing the best high-grade available to him, the desire for distraction grew. He finished the small cube and set it aside.

Soundwave read his intentions and obligingly held still as Megatron trailed both hands down his chestplate, tracing the outline of the cassette tray with a sense of expectation.

"My proper percentage," Megatron repeated with a knowing chuckle, stepping fully into Soundwave's reach. "My proper percentage of your attention is one hundred, Soundwave."

Soundwave recognized his cue to begin: the words varied but it was always a demand for his full attention. He released the catches on his shoulder-mounted blaster and set it aside. Then, "Yes, Megatron," he intoned, bringing his hands into contact with the louvres on his master's torso. As he caressed the openings in Megatron's armor, he allowed another tremor down his body as if in anticipation. He increased his electrical field slightly so that his dermal plating warmed. Megatron responded as expected, bowing his head to mouth one of the projections on Soundwave's forehead, then the other, hands wandering further down to the buttons across Soundwave's hips. Soundwave voiced a wordless sound and stroked up the seams on the sides of Megatron's chest, eliciting an answering sound from the silver mech.

Megatron stopped attending the small protrusions on Soundwave's helm and grasped his hips firmly, pulling their bodies tightly together. Soundwave held to his shoulders, knowing the next move well. Megatron easily maneuvered them to the floor of his quarters. Briefly he lay atop Soundwave, just to remind his smaller partner of their situation and the difference in their statures, then he rose up to his knees astraddle Soundwave's thighs. Soundwave trailed his hands down from Megatron's shoulders to his chest, idly tracing the Decepticon sigil there, the next step in the ritual of rebuilding Megatron's sense of control.

"Lie still," Megatron ordered.

Soundwave had not sensed that coming. Megatron was deviating from the usual script. "Yes, Megatron," he agreed automatically, dropping his hands to his sides and consciously holding his fingers very still against the sides of Megatron's knees.

Megatron looked down at him, expression calculating. "Your energy signature is the most stimulating I have ever encountered," he said, studying his form, "and your vocalization most pleasing." Soundwave remained silent, suspicious: flattery was not generally in Megatron's vocabulary. He leaned down over Soundwave, bringing his hands up to caress the joint where the mask met the helmet. "Disengage the mask, Soundwave."

Processor racing, searching for a precedent that did not exist, Soundwave complied. "Yes, Megatron," he said, activating the release on the battle mask that constantly covered him. Megatron's face was far too close to his for comfort; he had known this audience would lead to intimate interaction when he received the summons, but this new level of intimacy was unexpected. Megatron had never seen him without it, as far as he knew, and never entertained the notion before. This habitual post-battle session of theirs served Megatron: Megatron demanded Soundwave's attention, Megatron enjoyed Soundwave's physical stimulation, then Megatron returned to his routine. Soundwave did not understand or expect this sudden focus on him. What could Megatron possibly enjoy about his damaged face? The attention was frightening. He could not allow himself to panic or in any way lose control of the situation. He schooled his processor to focus on reading Megatron's intentions and ignore the interaction of their EM fields.

Megatron heard the small movement of the latches and carefully lifted the mask. He set it aside and studied Soundwave's faceplates for a long moment. He brushed his silver cheek against the scarred blue one, saying softly, "I will remind you I am in control of this base, Soundwave. You serve as I direct." He paused, running his hands over Soundwave's shoulders, caressing the eject button on his left shoulder and the attachment of his gun on the right. Soundwave shuddered involuntarily and was disturbed, both by the touch on his face and by his body's reactions. Megatron chuckled. "Your responses are always perfect, Soundwave, and I know you usually orchestrate them, which dedication pleases me greatly. Today, however, I will have you uncontrolled, your attention truly undivided."

"Yes, Megatr-," Soundwave began the automatic response but stopped trying to vocalize when Megatron covered his mouth with his own. Soundwave's visor brightened in shock and uncertainty. The lustful, power-hungry thoughts swirling in Megatron's CPU were disconcerting. Soundwave didn't dare stop his mental surveillance despite his discomfort. Megatron pressed their chestplates together as he kissed Soundwave firmly, almost violently, red optics daring Soundwave to protest. That was too much - Soundwave off-lined his optical sensor suite.

That was better in the sense that he was no longer forced to register the proximity of Megatron's optics to his own; worse because it left his processor completely filled with what Megatron was doing to his body and Megatron's own reactions to that. Fingers worked their way confidently into the transformation seams at his shoulders, stimulating circuits there while Megatron left off kissing him to first mouth his neck, nipping hard enough to flex the metal plating, then shift his body lower and trail his glossa over and into the place where Soundwave's neck met his chest. Megatron's thoughts were focused completely on owning him. The shift took Megatron's knees out of reach of the blue fingers; Soundwave found that lack of contact disconcerting, as if it had grounded him in some way. He moved his hands to Megatron's hips.

Megatron stopped what he was doing. "I told you to lie still," he reminded the object of his attention. An image of Soundwave restrained flitted through his CPU.

Shocked, Soundwave felt another tremor run through his systems and stilled his hands, resting them on the floor beside his thighs. "Yes, Megatron." Oh, this was not going well: he should be the one making Megatron tremble, the thought should never have crossed Megatron's mind to do any of this, and neither of them should be contemplating the images currently in Megatron's processor. Megatron was supposed to demand his attention and participate only marginally as Soundwave performed the activity that sent him into sensory overload and blissfully off-line on the floor of his quarters. Soundwave would then transfer Megatron to his recharge platform and leave. Obviously, the Slag Maker had other plans this time, resuming his probing of Soundwave's transformation seams, now the large ones on the sides of his torso, trailing stimulation pleasantly down to his abdomen and into his waist joint as Megatron's glossa explored the edges of his cassette tray. How had Megatron kept him from reading the change in plans?

A wave of electrical energy pulsed from the silver Decepticon, washing through all Soundwave's sensors. He lost his train of thought. "I never tire of hearing that from you, Soundwave," Megatron growled against Soundwave's chest. Soundwave couldn't remember saying anything of consequence for Megatron to possibly enjoy hearing. "Tell me you like what I'm doing." He firmly pressed his fingers into the gaps where Soundwave's hips met his torso. Somehow, he was causing his fingers and hands to vibrate, sending energy into the smaller mech's systems.

Still reeling from the brief field pulse and wondering what he'd said, Soundwave registered the minor intrusion. It sent a bit of pain through his processor, followed overwhelmingly by waves of pleasure as the circuits were thoroughly disturbed and pleasantly stimulated. Soundwave shifted his hips slightly without meaning to; electricity crackled between them. His voice cracked a bit with the effort to hold still in Megatron's sensory onslaught. "Yes, Megatron." His internal temperature rose and his own field pulsed against Megatron's.

Megatron felt the reaction and growled low in his throat. Now wrist-deep in blue metal, he raked his fingers along the inside of the plating, drawing a more violent tremor from Soundwave. "I want you to writhe in pleasure, Soundwave. Tell me you can do that." he purred, shifting his body yet lower on Soundwave's, teasing him with light brushes of his glossa against his dermal plating, still holding his legs firmly pinned to the floor.

"Yes, Megatron," passed his vocalizer before he processed the full order. Horrified at himself, Soundwave raised his head and brought his visor on-line. Immediately he regretted it. Megatron was actually looking at him at that moment, radiating amusement and possessiveness. The optical contact was humiliating. Before he could really weigh his options - risking deactivation by fighting free of Megatron did not seem so bad in that moment - Megatron found one of his main power cables and massaged it firmly. It was intense, enhancing the vibrations that had spread from Megatron's hands into every molecule of Soundwave's body. He off-lined his visor and let his head fall back, all thoughts of protest and lost dignity wiped from his CPU.

Megatron continued his exploration of Soundwave's internals, drawing wordless moans and shudders from the mech beneath him. He found an occasional 'yes-megatron' especially gratifying. He arbitrarily passed waves of energy through his electromagnetic field that permeated Soundwave and drove the communications officer's own field into erratic flares. When he moved farther down Soundwave's body, his hands elbow deep in the overheating body, he found what could make the blue 'Con squirm: mouthing the buttons on his hips. At the first touch of his lip-components on the rewind arrow, Soundwave jerked violently against him with a gasp. Electricity jumped from circuits within Soundwave and traveled teasingly down Megatron's arms. He purposefully covered the button with his mouth, pressing his glossa into the tiny valley between the blue metal and the slightly raised button. Soundwave moaned loudly and his hips moved ineffectually beneath Megatron's weight.

"Tell me you like that," Megatron prompted him, just to hear his vocalizer.

"Y-yes, Megatron. Oh yes," he replied, using twice as many words as necessary, his control slipping.

Megatron laughed gloatingly. He nipped the top edge of the next button lightly, causing another aborted movement through Soundwave. "Talk to me," he ordered, "tell me what effect I'm having on you, tell me about the flare that's coming."

"Mmmmmmh," Soundwave tried to speak. His control failed; some of his higher functions went into standby mode. Words passed his vocalizer but no number of memory scans would be able to tell him later what he said to Megatron, how he might have humiliated himself, literally at the hands (and mouth and EM field) of his leader. What Megatron was doing to his buttons and his internals soon sent him into overload, field flaring brightly and exclamation briefly covering the sound of the methodical Cybertronian music. Reason already gone, he could not have stopped the rest of his processor shutting down if he'd still had the wit to want to.

-X-X-X-

Megatron had never heard so much speech pass Soundwave's vocalizer in a month before, but once he started talking about what was being done to him, he kept going. The actual words were unimportant: Megatron just enjoyed the sound of his voice. The sense of power as his actions stirred reactions deep within the blue mech's body was more intoxicating than Mixmaster's best formulation. The crackle of electricity down his arms, the helpless movements of the body beneath his, and the pressure of Soundwave's flaring field against his own provided more pleasure than he'd known in a long time. When Soundwave suddenly lost volume control and his exclamation drowned the sound of the music, Megatron basked in the waves of energy emanating from him. Wave after wave of radiation poured from Soundwave, rippling through Megatron, removing the last traces of the frustration of the day. Soundwave went off-line.

Megatron extricated his hands from Soundwave's body, careful not to tear any of the lines. Usually their encounters led directly to Megatron experiencing sensory overload and coming back to himself on his recharge platform in his empty suite.

This time was exceptional in many ways. He knelt above Soundwave, considering what to do next. The cadence of the music changed: the theme of the mathematically-precise tune shifted from the heated struggle for victory to the long clean-up of the planet. Momentarily, he allowed himself to reminisce about the brief period of peace during which Platinum composed the piece. Soundwave had been with him, even then, but as an extremely junior officer: Megatron remembered seeing the boxy blue recruit during an inspection and asking Comettracker about him. Comettracker may not have been a better Air Commander than Starscream, but he was a much better officer in general and had taken Soundwave as a personal protege, deciding that any mechanism that drew his leader's attention so effortlessly was worthy of his own. Comettracker had trained him well.

He touched Soundwave's face, thinking that he was a fool to have not thought to look under the facemask before. Maybe someday he'd make Soundwave tell him why he didn't have his face fully repaired; not that he was aesthetically unpleasant this way, just that most preferred not to retain battle-scars. Perhaps Soundwave found the damage purely cosmetic and further repair inefficient? Another superior trait owned by this Decepticon, then. On a whim he wrapped his arms around Soundwave and stood up, carrying the limp-jointed mech with him. He cast a glance over the monitors and noted the message from Frenzy that Starscream had returned, then carefully walked to the room that held his recharge platform. In that moment he was grateful that the door was triggered by a simple proximity sensor. Soundwave had talked him out of putting a lock with a key-pad on it. It was yet another example of his usefulness.

-X-X-X-

Soundwave came back on-line. Someone was idly tracing the edges of his cassette tray. It was enthralling, even comforting, so it had to be Rumble; Frenzy just could not dampen his own field enough to be smooth like this. He enjoyed the sensation a moment, grateful for a time to relax in the attention. He felt the movement of air over his lips and jaw and tried to remember how Frenzy had talked him into removing his face mask again. The little red terror could be persuasive when he wanted to be. Extending his senses, he registered the single presence beside him; it felt older and more cunning than any of his cassettes. Maybe he was still dreaming. As the fingers began their second circuit of his chestplate, Soundwave's logic center engaged fully and he powered up the optical suite in his visor: Rumble's arms weren't long enough to reach all the way across him! Registering his surroundings, he did not recognize where he was. He turned his head and found himself visor-to-optics with Megatron. They were lying on Megatron's recharge platform!

Megatron wore an expression of contemplation. As if he had the ability to read Soundwave's mind, he mused, "What is it like for your Casseticons? What is it like to be dropped into subspace, into you?" He stopped mapping the cassette tray and splayed the fingers of that hand over the sigil emblazoned there.

Suddenly the events of - was it _hours_ ago?! - flooded Soundwave's processor and he remembered that he had truly disgraced himself, allowing Megatron to take complete control of their encounter and drive him into sensory overload. Trying to regain his composure, realizing he had to control his faceplates this time, not just his voice, he answered the ridiculous question in his habitual monotone, "Unknown, Megatron."

Inexplicably, Megatron shuddered and off-lined his optics briefly.

Soundwave was concerned. He usually had to go through most of Megatron's favorite stimuli to get him to do that; it was an action previously reserved for the moments before Megatron reached his limits. He consciously exerted his thought-sensing ability on Megatron and encountered a turmoil: introspection, spark-deep exhaustion, a tidbit of memory of Soundwave's field flaring violently that surprised Soundwave in the pleasure associated with it in Megatron's own experience, and despondence. The Slag Maker, a tyrant who enjoyed that title, was despairing of something.

Seeing his chance to regain control of the situation, Soundwave schooled his faceplates to convey concern. "Source of discomfort?"

Again, the first response to his vocalization was a shudder and a long flicker of bright red optics. Soundwave waited patiently. The strains of the fifteenth movement of Platinum's _Conquest_ filtered through the closed door from the main room of Megatron's suite. Megatron stroked Soundwave's transparent panel, firmly but with care not to scratch him. Images of their intimate encounters flitted through Megatron's processor, the most recent of them disconcerting to Soundwave as much for the possessiveness and lust they stirred in Megatron as for his personal sense of indignity. A desire was coalescing in the silver mech's imagination, something he would require of Soundwave.

Something he thought Soundwave might deny him.

That conflict rang loud and clear through Megatron's thoughts, directly at odds with his relationship to the universe at large, not just Soundwave. This was the source of the sense of despair: that one thing Megatron wanted could be completely denied. If Soundwave rejected the idea, Megatron could not force him. A fight might lead to Soundwave's deactivation, and then there would be no chance that he would have this thing he wanted. It was a fantasy that had grown from observing Soundwave's exceptional service as a base administrator, a field commander and a creator.

Sensing that he was at a decisive moment where he might gain true power over his leader, he remembered that Megatron admitted to actively enjoying the sound of his voice. He prodded for information, tone measured and cadence controlled but using more words than he was wont: "I serve as required, Megatron."

The hand on his chest stilled as another tremor ran through the large frame and Megatron off-lined his optics. Tone and body language uncertain, his words still conveyed an order, detailed instructions: "I will transform. You will drop me into your cassette tray and find a way to reach overload again. When you are able, you will return to my suite, remove me from subspace and remain until I also regain conscious function."

If he had not been actively scanning Megatron's thoughts, observing the sensory stimulus anticipated with each of those actions, Soundwave might not have believed his audio sensors. In his liege's CPU, the sensation of being surrounded by Soundwave as overload took him was nearly as real as the sensation of transforming.

-X-X-X-

Optics off-line, Megatron listened for his lieutenant's reaction. This distraction, this jealousy of those tiny Decepticons, had to be dealt with. In Soundwave's presence, his hatred of Earth receded to the background. Perhaps in Soundwave's person, he could eradicate it, end the overwhelming angst he'd been feeling about the war, find the joy in the sense of creating order again.

"Yes, Megatron. Press 'eject'; transform."

He found Soundwave's words of agreement empowering. Reactivating his optics, he moved slowly, watching Soundwave's visor carefully, not even cycling air through his cooling system. He rolled slowly onto the blue mech, straddling his thighs again as he had on the floor earlier so that he could move his right hand across to Soundwave's far shoulder to trigger the eject button. He touched the button gently, even reverently, looking intently into Soundwave's visor, watching his exposed face. Soundwave brought his hands up to Megatron's sides, again stroking the sensitive openings created by the louvres. "Overheat: imminent. Airflow necessary, Megatron," Soundwave volunteered, completely surprising Megatron by speaking without being prompted.

"I do enjoy the sound of your vocalizer, Soundwave," said Megatron as he reintroduced air to his cooling fins through the vents his servant so skillfully stimulated. He bent down to claim the scarred mouth one more time in a possessive kiss before sitting up to depress the eject button and transform.

Soundwave caught him precisely as he had so many times before, but for different purpose. Soundwave caressed the stock of his gun-mode, then the barrel and trigger-guard. His senses diminished as always with so much of his mass in subspace, he could only express his pleasure by vocalizing. A moan escaped him as Soundwave moved his hands sensuously over his now miniscule frame and then dropped him into his cassette holder and closed it with a dull click.

Megatron knew he was inside Soundwave's body because he could no longer hear the music, he could no longer sense the light from the walls and the dark of Soundwave's form. He could no longer feel the air circulating over his dermal plating. The sensory deprivation was complete. He felt as if he were floating in nothingness - not the emptiness of space where stars wink in the distance and the particle flux plays randomly with sensors, but truly in nothing: no light, no sound, no sense of anything but his own limits. It was energizing. He felt as if he were the center of the universe, as if he were his own universe.

He had no sensory perception at all and no sense of the passage of time until Soundwave spoke. "Megatron." He reacted even more strongly to Soundwave's exquisite voice: it came from every direction, it filled his being, it reverberated throughout his form. "Imperative: remain in alternate mode."

"Of course," he agreed when he remembered he had a vocalizer, but he had no way to know if Soundwave could hear him.

It may have been astroseconds later; it may have been hours later when it began. Whether Soundwave was alone or with another 'Con, Megatron had no way to know and did not care. Someone was stimulating Soundwave to send wave after wave of electricity through subspace, and he was vocalizing. Not speaking, these were wordless cries of pleasure that seemed to cut through Megatron's body with joy. Soundwave's electric field rushed through Megatron, nearly sending Megatron into overload in that instant. But he held on to consciousness, enjoying the sustained high that he assumed was due to being at the center from which waves from Soundwave emanated. The radiation was intense, hot, building and building before a jolt that felt like lightning hit him and he did reach his limit for sensory stimulation. His own EM field flared out uncontrollably. For a moment, he wondered what it felt like for Soundwave to have a mech inside him go supernova, then he was off-line.

-X-X-X-

It was nearly the next morning when Soundwave returned to conscious function. After the unprecedented encounter with his master and agreeing to indulge his request, the only thing that sounded remotely likely to again overload Soundwave was to be at the bottom of a pile-up of Casseticons. Those that were not deployed were eager to oblige him. He carefully avoided saying any of their names, lest Megatron know with certainty he was not alone. He'd never considered it before, but he was grateful that none of his creations had the same desire Megatron had formulated. It would have been awkward to tell beings who spent significant time in his subspace compartment that he did not want them there during physical intimacy. On top of that, now he knew that would be a lie and they were the only entities in existence whom he could not deceive. Megatron's field flare had preceded his own by only a nanosecond, pushing him into a sensory experience more debilitating than any other. Resting on his own recharge plate, the flow of current in his cables felt slow, his joints felt weak and his cooling system cycled erratically as he stirred and sat up. He considered that Megatron may have discovered such a thing as too intense physical stimulation. Judging by the state of his cassettes when he came on-line, the extra energy source in their encounter had a similar incapacitating effect on them. He gently arranged them on the recharge platforms in their shared quarters and searched briefly for his discarded weapon, then remembered he'd left it behind when he went to find the Casseticons. He slowly made his way back to Megatron's rooms.

Keying the door open effortlessly, Soundwave paused to watch the monitor of the secondary entrance. Starscream, Thundercracker and Skywarp appeared to be returning from somewhere, very pleased with themselves. Starscream wore a satisfied smirk that was out of place with his battered appearance. Skywarp and Thundercracker both looked nearly as bad as when they returned from battle the previous afternoon, but in much better spirits. Too exhausted to actively care what they had been up to, Soundwave made an internal note to check later and proceeded into Megatron's recharge room. He opened his compartment, removed Megatron from subspace and laid the hand-cannon on his recharge platform. For lack of anything better to do while waiting for his leader to recover, he sat on the floor beside the platform and settled down to recharge. Being on that plate once was dangerous enough, he would not presume to invite himself there.


	2. The Mech Before Me

Title: _The Mech Before Me_

Universe: G1.

Rating: PG-13. Entry for April 2008 at MechaErotica, _Lonely Ol' Night_ Challenge.

Pairing: Optimus Prime/Ratchet with reference to Elita One/Optimus Prime.

Author's Notes: If pressed, I would insist this is transformative, an experiment in style. Each line should be read slowly, a heartbeat or two allowed between them as thoughts come slowly from a weary being. 1700 words. The fanfiction system would not accept empty lines between paragraphs, so the radio chirp mark (-:-) was inserted to indicate a longer pause.

* * *

He comes to me again

on a day like many others.

I hear the door cycle open

and look up in time to see him

register that there is no one else here,

everyone repaired and released,

gone on about the lives they're making here.

-:-

"I need you," he says

in that voice that resonates in my head,

with the vocalizer I've half a mind to detune.

But I see the change,

see the mantle fall from him,

so that the leader,

the commander,

the Prime

is not the mech standing there.

The strain,

the sadness,

the senselessness of war,

weigh on the mech before me.

He is not free,

never free,

bound as he is to duty

and to the past,

to the soul of another.

Often he comes to me like this.

-:-

Each time feels like a first time

and feels like a last time.

-:-

I stand up slowly at my desk,

other tasks forgotten.

My priority always has to be

this mech before me

because without him

we are all lost.

-:-

He steps closer

in the quiet of the room.

It might be the middle of the day

or the darkest hours of night

but the others are elsewhere,

my helpers sent to rest

and recover their energy

after dealing with the aftermath of battle.

He doesn't come to me every time

but enough that I never allow them to remain

when the last repairs are done.

I find reasons for them to go,

leaving me to inventory

or to clean up

and take stock of the damage,

plan the replenishment runs to be made.

His steps are cautious,

uncertain,

not the character he displays at any other time.

-:-

The mech before me is asking permission.

He thinks he is asking of me

something difficult,

something uncomfortable,

even something wrong.

-:-

The task I was working is forgotten.

Unhurried,

as smoothly as I can move,

I hold out a hand to him

in a gesture of welcome

and acceptance,

offering understanding,

the stolid support that he needs.

At these times

the mech before me is not the power in this company,

not the one whose name everyone knows.

I have no name for the mech before me.

-:-

If anyone else were to observe this

they might say that I am as different in these times as he,

but that is not the case:

I care as much

and use the same judgment

with them as with him,

but part of my charter,

my guiding light,

my programming, even,

is to treat each patient as is best for his condition.

The twins curse and carouse

so I curse and carouse with them,

as rough and as harsh

as they need me to be

to get them through;

my fingers less gentle

but my carefulness the same.

Others need to be reassured,

need me to downplay everything:

"Oh, it's just a scratch, get over it,"

I say to one while my student reattaches a _limb_,

knowing what they need to hear

and how they need me to be.

-:-

Bravado and raucousness,

crotchety complaints,

these are not for the mech before me.

-:-

He stops about halfway,

as if he does not have the energy to go farther.

Perhaps he does not,

but I find it more likely that he is reconsidering,

thinking that he should not,

that he must not,

that it is somehow unfair of him to ask this of me

one more time.

-:-

Before he can talk himself into leaving

I carefully move to close the distance,

silently offering my support,

my presence,

anything he needs that I can provide.

He always waits

for me to touch him first,

then it is as if he deflates,

as if his hydraulics have cut out,

as if his power relays have failed.

I am strong

and the mech before me is not the largest in our ranks,

not the most massive,

and he is not wounded, now,

his gyros are spinning

and the lift I provide him

is of the spark not the body.

He leans into me,

bowing into my embrace.

It is not sensual

or romantic in any way;

at least, it does not start out that way.

Yet we move,

knowing this dance,

knowing that what we share

may not be a love worthy of dreaming,

or a love fit for song,

but it is love none the less,

unchanging

and sustaining,

that keeps him on his feet when he should fall,

and keeps me at my post when everyone else is gone to rest.

-:-

Sometimes we both overload

and do not know how we came to it;

sometimes it is purely for comfort

and he plugs into me

so that I can soothe his soul

by partitioning drives

and putting memories in files more remote.

Sometimes, after the initial meeting,

after I hold him for a moment or two,

he straightens up to leave

with a lighter step and a promise to return:

the welcome was all he needed,

a moment to relieve the loneliness.

-:-

Those may be the worst times for me,

a reminder that although I count myself his

we both know he can never be mine.

-:-

The best times are others

when the welcome is all he needs,

but he straightens up

to become active,

displaying the traits everyone knows

but in a circumstance few would guess.

Leader as lover

is passionate and tender and true.

Those are the times that leave me reeling,

that leave me wishing

he could stay by my side.

-:-

This is not one of those times.

I can feel it in him,

I can feel that the bond is aching.

His spark, the core of his being,

the eternal flame that makes a machine alive

is hurting

from being spread too thinly,

across too large a distance,

half of it held by his mate.

This time I hold him and soothe,

I tell him I love him,

and tenderly I touch him,

with gentle hands I drive him to the edge.

I let him forget for a moment -

an hour? - a breem? -

that I am not her.

I brace myself for the sound of her name.

The mech before me knows loneliness

even surrounded as he is by many

who would happily absorb his pain if they could,

or fill the gap in his soul.

-:-

"How often have we done this?" he asks

and I don't know what to say.

-:-

"I haven't been keeping track."

-:-

He accepts that for answer

and leans into me

where we've knelt down on my office floor.

-:-

"Does it hurt you when I cry her name?"

-:-

That is a question I never imagined:

"I- haven't been keeping track."

-:-

"It is not fair to you," he says,

"that I ask this of you."

-:-

"You need it-" I start to say.

-:-

He overrides me

with his voice no longer controlled:

"What can I do

to leave her behind

and free my spark for the rest of my time?"

-:-

I ache for him and he knows it

but I never dreamed he could feel the same.

I touch his face - battle mask long removed -

and gaze into eyes I adore.

-:-

"There is nothing,"

I begin, "no change you can make

except to move on day by day.

You deal with the pain,

and you know I can help,

but your spark will remain bound to hers."

-:-

He thinks for a moment with faraway optics;

I can hear his processors spin.

Then he returns to the present,

sees me holding him.

He looks at me searchingly

and I meet his gaze,

unflinching

as I am in all things.

-:-

I sense a shift in him I do not recognize.

-:-

"Do you ever feel I am using you?"

That sounds like his Prime voice.

-:-

I let him know I noticed: "No, Prime."

-:-

"I do," he says, "but I'm weak and come to you."

Prime no more, he reverts to the lover I know.

-:-

"You shouldn't," I offer, "I love you -

I will give freely what you need."

-:-

"We can never be open

or allow others to know what we have,

between you and me.

Who here doesn't know her?

But you know, or should know, how I feel."

The pain is still there, I can feel it in him,

but he is shifting, his world's not the same.

"I may be bound to her forever," he says,

"can it be enough that I come to you now?"

-:-

"Enough for whom?" I reply, "Don't ask for me, only you."

-:-

He turns thoughtful

again looking inside,

and probably back to the past.

-:-

For a time we are quiet,

sharing comfort and warmth,

not our thoughts or our fears or our dreams.

-:-

Then his focus shifts to me

and he is the one I long for

who is lover and leader and friend;

not the patient,

not the Prime I must mend.

The mech before me is all of those things

as he fans the fire in my spark,

yet I know each time is a first time

and each time is a last time,

with a soul who can never be free.

-:-

I ease the strain,

I soothe the sadness,

I lament the senselessness of war,

yet they bear down on the mech before me.

I do all I can to bring a change,

so that when he rises from my side

to resume the mantle of command

he is the leader,

the Prime,

the champion once again.

-:-

The mech before me will always come again,

on a day like many, many others.

I will hear the door cycle open

and look up in time to see him

register there is no one else here,

everyone repaired and released,

gone on about the lives they make here.

-:-

"I need you," he will say

in that voice once again,

the same that rings true when he says, "Freedom-

-is the Right of All Sentient Beings."

Yet freedom is not his,

bound as he is to duty

and to the past,

to the soul of another.

-:-

Each time will be a first time

and each time, a last time,

with this mech who comes to stand before me.


End file.
